


Smoke

by ashes_and_ashes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, M/M, draco malfoy x harry potter - Freeform, drarry angst, first wizarding war, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes_and_ashes/pseuds/ashes_and_ashes
Summary: “Get out,” Ron says. His voice is thick with grief, eyes gleaming with tears of pain and tears of rage. “No one wants you here. Get out.”Draco can just barely see past him to Harry, kneeling motionless on the ground. His head is bent, his hair hiding his face but Draco can tell from the shaking of his shoulders that he was sobbing, hands fisted by his side.“I can’t,” Draco says. “I have to see him.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 336





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting some of my tumblr stuff on here because my ao3 has been severely neglected!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at @ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust!!

He can barely see through the haze of smoke.

Draco shoves his way through the crowd, elbowing and pushing and kicking. His head throbs, blood dripping from a cut on his scalp into his one good eye. He doesn’t know what happened to the other one - a blast of magic and a searing pain and all he could see out of that eye was darkness.

On any other day Draco’s pretty sure he would have collapsed but right now he’s too high on adrenaline and panic to register anything. He keeps pushing, keeps shoving, anything to get to the center of the crowd, to where Harry was kneeling, Draco’s wand in Harry’s hand and blood all over the stones. He can feel it, a strange tug right under his rib cage, his magic calling out to him like a siren song.

He makes it past the crowd of people, but Draco barely manages another step before Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger cut in front of him. There are tracks in the grime on Ron’s face, obviously from tears; Draco thinks about the shock of red hair on one of the corpses and wonders who Ron had lost.

“Get out,” Ron says. His voice is thick with grief, eyes gleaming with tears of pain and tears of rage. “No one wants you here. Get _out_.”

Draco can just barely see past him to Harry, kneeling motionless on the ground. His head is bent, his hair hiding his face but Draco can tell from the shaking of his shoulders that he was sobbing, hands fisted by his side.

“I can’t,” Draco says. “I have to see him.”

“Get the _fuck_ out!” Ron screams. “You’ve fucking done enough - “

Someone grips his arm hard; Draco blinks as Pansy appears, lips set in a vicious snarl. She’s gripping her wand, so tight her fingers were white where they wrapped around the handle. Flanking her is Blaise and Theo and Greg, a crowd of familiar faces in a pool of hate and Draco feels himself relax just a bit.

“Don’t,” Pansy says, her voice low and hard. “Let him see Harry.”

“Oh you’re here now Parkinson?” Hermione’s face is twisted with anger. “Trying to sell out Harry some more? There’s still some Death Eaters nearby - maybe you can hand him off to them.”

Blaise shakes his head. The usual easy expression he wore was gone, replaced with stone-cold anger. “You’re on thin fucking ice Granger.”

Hermione’s voice is mocking. “Oh I’m terrified. What are you going to do? Kill us off like you did to Crabbe?”

Greg lurches like he was punched, folding in on himself. Draco shakes his head, throwing his arms out to hold back Pansy and Theo even as grief tore a hole in his heart.

“You fucking - “ Blaise starts and Draco cuts him off with a vicious look. Ron lets out a slow laugh at the sight; Blaise merely straightens his robes, an icy glare plastered onto his face.

“I’m sorry,” Draco chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”

Ron’s face is a mask of grief. “Sorry doesn’t bring my brother back.”

Draco bites his lip, hard. Harry’s still shaking on the ground, curled up on himself like someone was kicking him; he swears at the sight. “I know. It doesn’t. And I swear - afterwards you can do whatever you want to me. Throw me in Azkaban, torture me - I don’t give a fuck. But please - _let me go to Harry_.”

Hermione shrugs. “We’ll take you up on that.”

“You’ve changed, Granger,” Pansy says, as Draco starts forward. “You’re almost as cold hearted as I am.”

Draco barely hears Hermione’s cutting reply. He’s too focused on Harry, the thin set of his shoulders, the matted strands of hair plastered to his skin. One hand’s still wrapped around Draco’s wand, the fingers bloodied and scorched. Draco sinks to his knees in an instant, reaching out for Harry.

“Hey - “

The punch takes him by surprise, a vicious uppercut to the soft bit of his stomach. Draco doubles over in surprise; dimly he hears Ron’s shout, sees Theo throw himself on top of him to keep him back. He winces, spitting a bit of blood out to the side, stomach rolling with pain.

“Fuck,” he says; Harry’s eyes are still distant, lost in that soft world of shock. “Harry. Harry, it’s me.”

He can just barely make out Harry’s face, the paleness of his skin, the bleeding cuts on his cheekbone. Draco almost reaches for Harry again then thinks better, instead placing his hand right next to Harry’s, so close he can feel the heat from his skin.

“Hey,” he says again; he thinks Harry might have blinked, his eyes fluttering just for a split second. “Hey. It’s me. Draco. You made it, Harry. You killed him. You won.”

He inches forward, wraps his finger around Harry’s hand. The punch is hard but Draco’s prepared for it now; he turns, letting Harry’s fist glance off his shoulder instead of his stomach. It hurts, breaking the scabs underneath his robes but Draco doesn’t let go.

“You’re alright,” he says. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, so damn slowly Draco feels Harry start to relax, the trembling easing ever so slightly. He grips harder, letting the touch of his hands be an anchor, pulling Harry in from the rolling storm outside.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, and presses his head against Harry’s, until they were breathing in sync, every exhale and every inhale. He can feel Harry slowly melting into him, the tension leaving his limbs bit by fucking bit. “It’s okay.”

He doesn’t know how long it’s been - an hour, a day, a year - but slowly Harry’s breath becomes easier, his breaths clearing until finally Draco loosened his grip and Harry opened his eyes.

They’re haunted, that fragile gleam of desperation one push away from breaking but Draco lets out a huff of relief anyways. Harry squeezes his hand, so tightly Draco almost winces before letting go.

“Draco,” he says and God his voice was hoarse, like bits of metal grating against stone, like he had been screaming for hours without end. “Fuck. Draco.” He breaks off at the end, burying his face against Draco’s neck; Draco feels his lips moving against skin and shivers.

“Harry,” he says and slowly pulls away, cupping Harry’s face with one hand. He lets his thumb drift along his cheekbone, his heart breaking at his Harry closed his eyes at the contact. “Are you…?”

“Fine,” Harry says. He turns his face into Draco’s palm, his voice broken. “What happened to your eye?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s all…” Harry breaks off. “It looks broken. Like shards of glass exploded.”

“I’m fine.” Draco lets his hand drop, resting on Harry’s hip. “I’m fine.”

Harry laughs, then freezes. His eyes go wide; Draco looks over his shoulder but finds no one beside his friends and Harry’s friends, still watching him with wary eyes. “What?”

“How do I know this is real?” Harry whispers. He gestures, at the room, the ceiling, the shattered windows and cracked floor. “How do I know any of this is real, that it isn’t _him_ \- “

Slowly, Draco takes Harry’s hands. He moves them underneath his own shirt, presses them against the skin, right against the scars from Sectumsempta. Harry’s eyes widen at the feeling, the raised lines and deep divots, scars that he had carved onto Draco’s flesh. “Harry. It’s real.”

Harry’s face crumples. He tries to pull away but Draco doesn’t let him, keeps him pulled up against Draco’s skin, fingers pressing into the spaces between his bones. “It’s real.”

Harry shakes his head and then he’s kissing Draco, hard and bloody, the taste of salt and metal in his mouth. They’re both shaking, the knowledge that _this could have been it, this could have been the end of them_ so fresh in their veins, ripping through like strands of light, like the crackling in the air before lightning hit the ground. They’re wildfire the two of them, burning up in a blaze of flames and all Draco can do is hold on and watch himself burn.

“You promise,” Harry says, lips moving against Draco’s. “You promise this is real?”

Draco closes his eyes, breathing in everything; the air, the smoke, Harry, flush against his body, pressed up against his lips.

“Yeah,” he says. “I promise.”


End file.
